Ordinary Time for Extraordinary Days

Unless you are an Episcopalian or otherwise have a fascination with the liturgical calendar, you may never have heard of “ordinary time.” It’s that seemingly neverending period that starts right after Trinity Sunday (which is the Sunday after Pentecost) and lasts until Advent, with a few saints days thrown in for good measure. The color is green. As a child I remember thinking those endless Sundays (the “xxth Sunday after Pentecost”) would never end – the same way the long days of summer stretched out like an endless road back then.

Lest you wonder what in the world ordinary time has to do with the adventures of FromSwampToSummit – suffice it to say that I think we all need a little more of it. For example, I wrote this post while climbing on the stepmill at the Y. Is that really the best way to do it? Don’t we all need to slow down a few minutes and experience the boredom that allows our minds to roam free without the constant interruptions of stimulus?

I’m particularly sensitive to those needs right now because I’m about to enter a phase of extraordinary time. A and N get married in just over two weeks in New Bedford, MA. We will be seeing family and friends we haven’t seen for years, some due to Covid and others the vagaries of time. And all in one fell swoop.

Of course, all of this will be capped off by our trip to Mt. Baker in Washington, with S of Stok Kangri and Elbrus fame. Hence the step mill.

S, J, and me in Ladakh, India

But despite all the excitement, I think we could still all use a little ordinary time. I’m going to try to keep my eye on that clock over the next few weeks.

Never Say Never – Mt. Baker

S looked at me bemusedly. “Really? You swore you were never again going multi day backpacking where you carry your own stuff after the slog up Long’s Peak.” His words resonated as I found myself buying my fifth or so back pack – this time a 70 liter one. It towers over me.

All it took was a late afternoon chat with SB, of Elbrus and Stok Kangri fame. Steps on the Summit The Trek to Base Camp, Stok Kangri, Ladakh, India As we commiserated about our lack of adventure and travel over the pandemic, SB noted that Mt Baker in the northern cascades had always been on his bucket list. A few internet searches later we were all signed up for a Mountain Madness four day trip up Mt Baker’s Easton Glacier route in August.

In deference to our advancing age we are taking the slow route (relaxed, they call it, I guess like a fit of pants) and there are others who haul up the tents, cooking equipment etc. You “only” have to carry 30 or 35 pounds, but it’s too much bulk for my 53 liter pack.

So, it’s back to training for us. I did stairs twice last week and am forcing myself to run when I can stand it. J’s various Achilles issues seem to have resolved and he’s back to basketball.

But we are really hoping to get more outdoor hiking in….and yesterday was a good start with a beautiful walk in the Lake Proctor wilderness near Geneva, Florida with S and M. It’s a generally shady trail with Florida scrub on one side and views of a small lake on the other. The weather was spectacular- blue skies and in the 70s and we took our time and relished just being outdoors. There was even enough standing water to wade through and around to make S happy. Should all training hikes be so pleasant!

Our Mt Elbrus guide described Baker as a mini Elbrus so I guess it’s appropriate we are doing it with SB. Hopefully I’ve learned some things over the last 9 years and this time will make sure I have sun screen lip balm, not chapstick in my pocket.

Yes, that’s zinc sunscreen but none on my lips.

Rooftop Tent or Five Star Hotel?

Miami

I’m at my first in-person partners meeting in two years, staying at what I’m sure is a five star hotel. Who knows how far into the three digits it’s charging.

But this is life after the pandemic – or at least after we’ve gotten used to the pandemic – and much has changed in the hospitality industry. Or perhaps what I’m really demonstrating is that I’ve simply lost touch with the modern world of hotels over the last two years.

It started when I left my law firm’s dinner at a reasonable hour, returning to a really lovely room in a hotel that shall not be named. I was looking forward to enjoying a super expensive package of nuts from the minibar – which in my naïveté I just assumed was still a “thing.” But when I realized my keycard wouldn’t unlock said minibar I dialed 0 – at least that usually still works – to inquire about the issue. I was informed that Covid somehow had required the emptying of all minibars (despite the fact that minibars, whose ingredients are individually packaged and as pristine as a first snowfall, would hardly appear to be spreaders of Covid).

So giving up on that, I thought I could at least make a cup of decaf coffee in the fancy Illy coffee maker that was on top of the empty locked minibar. But Illy coffee machines should be banned as apparently no one, hotel staff included, knows how to use them.

With all the high falutin’ technology in this room – there was an imbedded TV screen in the bathroom mirror (what??) you would think you could at least turn the lights off with the help of one switch. But no, the switches were multiple and varied and at the end of the evening I found myself looking for manual off and on switches on each light fixture as the only way to power down. At least they still have switches. By the way, that omits the earlier hunt for the bathroom light switch, which turned out not to be close to the door but required a venture into a dark bathroom to find it somewhere in the center of the room over the middle of the vanity.

As I re-read this it certainly sounds like a rant of first world problems. But I’d never have thought that climbing up a ladder to my comfortable queen size mattress in my rooftop tent, illuminated by a little string of built in, battery pack operated LED lights, would be easier than staying in a swank hotel!

Winding Down 2021 – Adventures in a Rooftop Tent

This blog post was supposed to be about our first actual out of the driveway camping experience in our rooftop tent (called a RTT by those in the know). But with 2021 rolling out in as haphazard a manner as it rolled in, this post is similarly going to have to careen across many topics. Think of the ball in a pinball machine going this way and that – perhaps a good analogy for the year.

To go back a few weeks – we did indeed get to adventure for one night at a Hipcamp site on the north shore of Lake Apopka. It was a fairly short drive from Orlando – light industrial areas morphed into light agricultural areas, anchored by what I learned is one of the largest blueberry processing facilities in the country. Who knew.

This particular campsite is notable for its whimsical decorations – LED dinosaur lights adorned our spot, and odd remnants of old vehicles and other objects (like a swan boat!) dotted the landscape.

The RTT experience itself was great. There’s a sense of security in sleeping ten feet above the ground, and the views are magnificent. The campfire was great and dinner would have been also had we remembered any utensils. I found myself googling “how to eat baked beans without silverware.” After rejecting the idea of whittling a fork (we didn’t have a knife either!) we resorted to using the tops of our water bottles as scoops.

The next morning was misty and grey. There was a hiking trail just across the street. Huge elephant ear plants around our tent and gone to the wild citrus made us feel we’d entered a world far from 21st century Florida.

But despite our plans for further adventure in 2021, the world of work kicked in and the next RTT inhabitants were Daughter A and fiancé N – in the driveway! Their sojourn – one night only – was occasioned by a Covid/omicrom outbreak among yours truly, J and daughter S (who we suspect imported this strain from a brief trip to San Francisco). And yes, all of us are fully vaccinated and boosted. We did, however, ultimately manage to cordon off the house so A and N were able to sleep indoors.

Fortunately we have a large porch and the contaminated ones were able to sit at the bottom part while still socializing with the others who held court on the top part. Our kn95 masks were de rigeur. Thank God the weather in Florida was compatible with outdoor living, and thus far we’ve limited the outbreak to the original three. But I must say I have rarely spent this much time outside – even on a camping trip. We spent a lot of time watching TikTok videos of other families in similar straits.

Note the “uppers” and the “downers”

So, J and I will shortly see off the last of our holiday houseguests and plan to spend NYE in our covid imposed bubble instead of at the fancy dinner we’d planned at a local restaurant with M and S.

2021 had its moments – A and N’s engagement, Long’s Peak and Colorado, a family Thanksgiving extravaganza, and some great visits with my parents, among them. And let’s not forget the vaccines! I have a very definite feeling that without them I would be facing something very different than a head cold and fatigue.

Here’s to 2022! And to adventure, whether in a rooftop tent in the driveway or beyond.

Long’s Peak – Down Down Down in Colorado

Since you can’t stay at the top of a mountain forever (or near the top, in our case), it was time to start the clamber down through the rock boulders. Being significantly shorter than the others in our group, I have developed a wedge yourself into a crack, slide down, squat and start it all over again technique. It’s not fast but it’s undoubtedly safe. The sun was scorching down on the reddish rocks and we were all glad when we finally reached the Boulderfield. J managed to get totally dehydrated but was better after some electrolyte tablets.

Once we packed up the tents and ourselves, we finally got on the “road”. We had another 4 plus miles to our next campsite, but at least the trajectory was downward, which certainly helped ease the weight of the packs. We climbed over and through lots of rock, and then emerged onto a broad expanse of rocky grasslands. We stopped for lunch where we were joined by another hiker we had met at the Boulderfield- he had gotten to about 100 feet below the summit but had to stop at that point because of ice. A number of large and well fed looking marmots also participated in our dining activities – or attempted to!

We reached the Boulder Brooks campsite in decent time. It’s situated by a rushing stream and consists of three very spread apart sites. Of course, as soon as we got the tents up it started to pour with a hard rain, which seemed to be the pattern of this trip. J and I hunkered down in the tent and I finished my book. My kindle is truly worth the extra few ounces on trips like these.

The location was beautiful and I sat outside for a bit in the early evening. Unfortunately a multitude of mosquitoes found it equally enjoyable and ultimately chased me back into the relative safety of my tent, where an early bedtime – combined with more rain – made for a very good nights sleep.

The next morning our tents and any possessions stored outside were all quite soggy. We had stayed dry inside but the exteriors were soaked. After a pancake breakfast we dried everything out as best we could and then started a three mile trek out to the pick up point.

The trail followed the same creek we had camped by and we criss-crossed it several times on narrow log bridges just above the water. A far cry from the high swinging bridges of the Himalayas. The Douglas firs soon gave way to silvery white barked aspens. Although they are beautiful I appear to be allergic to them and snuffled and snorted my way the last few miles to the pick up point.

Made it!

The guide company van met us, and delivered a gourmet picnic lunch which we devoured at a nearby state park. The drive back to Estes Park went quickly, and we were deposited at the back of The Stanley Hotel, of The Shining fame, where we were to spend the night. S, J and I were each given a large black garbage bag to serve as a receptacle for the by now extremely dirty contents of our backpacks. The rooms weren’t ready yet so we and our very muddy and smelly possessions found a discrete corner on the porch of the hotel to while away a few hours. We met back up with M and her sister D, who politely refrained from too much commentary on our bedraggled state.

I couldn’t help but think that a haunted hotel was just the right spot to conclude the first part of a magical trip.

Stanley Hotel. Redrum.

Long’s Peak – Through the Keyhole

See the Keyhole in the background

I felt like Alice. Going through the Keyhole was as though we’d walked through the looking glass, only to find ourselves in the netherworld. But we aren’t there yet on this journey – let me resume where I left off, at the Goblins Forest.

We woke up on time, about 6 am after an adequate nights sleep – except for the part where I thought J’s shadow as he reached for a drink of water was a bear…

After a filling breakfast of eggs, bacon, and potatoes we started hiking about 8:10. The first section was what we had done the day before – but this time with over 35 pound packs. As I had feared, an 18 inch step up is a lot harder with 35 pounds on your back – especially as you are working your way up a couple of thousand feet of elevation gain.

It took about five hours to get to the next campsite – the infamous Boulderfield, the real start of the Keyhole Route. We started by disassembling our tents etc, and once fully laden with our packs and the ever constant bear cans, started to hike, up, up, and more up. We made decent time to the junction we’d reached the day before, but definitely slowed down after that and as we went above the tree line.

Weather was moving in, and we all got out our rain gear. The sky turned progressively grayer as the thunderclouds rolled in. The rain came first. Then, just as we reached an even more exposed traverse, the hail started. This was larger than the Twin Sisters hail – almost buckshot sized pellets aiming at us as if fired from shotguns.

The stone steps kept going up and up. I only kept going by focusing on my office building stair training – each time there was a brief leveling out I pretended I was on a landing.

Eventually the stairs turned into an uphill field of boulders, and after a few wrong turns we finally made our way to the “campsite.” It consisted of a square gravel and sand base outlined by small rock walls. Stark, to say the least. No vegetation to speak of except for a few clumps of grass peeking up between the rocks – leading one to wonder what in the world all the marmots are surviving on.

Once there, we got the tents up just before the next rain storm arrived. J was very dehydrated and we just hunkered down in the tent. I amused myself by trying to video the tent interior as he slept. Eventually our guide T delivered carrots, hummus, and cheese to each tent for a mid afternoon lunch – which revived J considerably.

Finally the rain stopped and we emerged from our tents to take in our surroundings. Our guides had suggested in lieu of the Keyhole we could climb Mt Lady Washington if we wanted. After we asked what it looked like and they pointed to a high pile of what can only be described as a rubble heap, there was not even any discussion among the three of us. The Keyhole it was!

We were up at 4:30 am on what appeared to be a true bluebird day. The Keyhole is visible from the Boulderfield and each clamber up another boulder brought it closer and closer. Just below the Keyhole is a stone monument to the first woman to summit Longs Peak in winter – she died on the way down.

I wasn’t even aware of the precise moment I went through the Keyhole – it’s a steep bit and you’re looking down. But once through, suddenly a previously unseen mountain range spreads out before you, towering over a dark, stony valley. It was as if we had entered another world, some magical kingdom populated by giants and goblins and ghosts.

We ventured out onto the Ledges, the next section of the route. There’s a fair degree of exposure, but I felt comfortable- able to lean into the wall and move fluidly. We followed the bulls eye markers almost to the end of the Ledges section, which is marked by a piece of rebar. At that point you have to step around a fairly intense rock – it was slippery and you have to move around it without being able to see to the other side. It was clear our guides weren’t going to let the 60 year olds under their charge go any further.

But the elation of reaching that other world – paired with a lot of adrenaline and endorphins, I’m sure – brought back all my summit experiences. It always makes it worth it.

But – we couldn’t stay there forever. The descent had to begin.

Colorado – Up, Up, and Away in Estes Park

On the road

After the angst of packing and extracting ourselves from work, we were finally on our way to the Rockies. Despite all the horror stories of Uber unavailability and cost, we obtained one with no issue and made it to the airport with time to spare. In fact, we were there ahead of M and S, which is an unusual circumstance, to say the least.

We had a relatively uneventful flight to Denver, which is always a good thing. The airport entry into Denver is surprisingly industrial, and looks more like Elizabeth City, New Jersey in the ‘80s than a gateway to the Rockies (no offense meant toward New Jersey). It’s not helped by the massive interstate construction project that has created a literal bombscape for much of the way.

But very shortly the cloudscapes of mountains start to appear in the distance. We took a toll-free route that led us right through Boulder (I kept thinking of Mork and Mindy), where we had a nice lunch of ceviche tostados at Wahoos. Not sure why I opted for a salad with tofu.

It wasn’t too far from Boulder to Estes Park, at elevation 7522’. The directions to our Airbnb were confusing, to say the least, but after many twists and turns, largely centered around looking for the Bank of Estes – which was the main landmark – we found our way to a very nice small house, just a short walk to town, with mountain views and a great night vista of the illuminated Stanley Hotel.

Estes Park itself is populated by throngs of tourists of all shapes and sizes, small restaurants, and an extraordinary number of candy shops (indulgence in which did not seem like a good idea as a precursor to Longs Peak). There’s a lovely river walk that goes along the banks of the Big Thompson and Fall Rivers, and ultimately we ended up at a pizza place just off the river for dinner. The pizza offered some truly unusual toppings. I treated myself to smoked trout, capers, and cream cheese, while S experienced a little bit of Hawaii with pineapple and red sauce. J and M had something more conventional.

The next day it was time to start some acclimatization hiking in preparation for the Keyhole Route. S had picked out the Twin Sisters trail, which reaches just over 11,000 feet with about 2475’ of elevation gain. Rocky Mountain National Park has timed reserved entries from 9 to 3, so it’s key to get there early – and that’s a necessity for Colorado weather anyway – as you’ll see.

We hiked up a dirt road from the parking area to the trail head. The beautifully maintained trail starts in tall Colorado pines and firs, with a sprinkling of wildflowers. Each uphill stretch was met with a period of relatively flat recovery, a far cry from the straight up treks in the Balkans.

We finally broke through the tree line and the terrain turned rocky, but it was still easy to pick our way through the boulders. Walking through clouds we reached the saddle between the two small summit peaks that were a few feet higher and just a short scramble. But we decided the saddle was summit enough as we started to hear the first claps of thunder.

Being good Floridians and heeding the warnings about exposure and lightning we decided it was time to go down. We were a little concerned about the youth group that we encountered close to the top. They’d broken up into several dispersed groups and the last we saw of them the youngest seemed to be scrambling to the summit as the rain started. Apparently they didn’t take to heart our admonitions that they might want to think about starting down.

Just as we approached the tree line, the real rain started. We managed to get our raincoats on but not our rainpants. Soon the rain turned to pellets of hail, which was to become a weather theme for our trip, although we didn’t know it then. It turns out hail really hurts when it starts to hit your face and hands.

J and I moved fast through three different sessions of hail, all the way to the bottom where, naturally, the sun was now emerging from the clouds. M and S were slightly ahead and we were all soaked. Fortunately the house had good laundry equipment which we took full advantage of.

We had a late lunch at a very informal spot called The Local. I tried the elk stew, which seems to be a specialty of the area. It was good, but frankly anything would have tasted good by then.

We managed to relax in the afternoon as more rain poured down, and did some additional gear shopping (which seems to be an integral part of such trips). I scored a great $13 long sleeved hiking shirt. It helps when you can fit into a boys large.

Despite large lunches we forced ourselves to choke down a good dinner at Claire’s, a nice restaurant where we could sit at the bar without a wait. We had read that Twin Sisters was a great training hike for Longs Peak, and were pretty pleased with our prowess. We were all feeling very ready to go. Were we?

Enchanted Austin and a Scramble Down a Rock

We were welcomed with a rainbow.

Rolling green hills, lightning storms approaching, wildflowers edging the two lane roads. While I could choose to write about 18 miles plodding down the West Orange Trail a couple of weeks ago, it’s more fun to remember this past weekend in Austin, Texas.

Air travel is once again a thing- I reread my blog posts from last summer with some sense of bemusement. How quickly we forget isolation – except for the fact rental cars are more expensive than plane tickets (and those are going up too) and the ubiquitous Uber drivers seem to have all disappeared.

Husband J and I must have increased the median age in East Austin, home of daughter S, by at least a couple of decades. East Austin is inhabited by hordes of 20 somethings scootering between watering holes that are interspersed with eating establishments catering to any variety of tastes.

After a lovely, if late, dinner at the French restaurant Justine’s, on Saturday S and her boyfriend Z took us adventuring in the Hill Country, which starts just outside Austin.

First stop was Enchanted Rock State Park. The route there took us off the interstates and onto a series of two lane roads winding through the hills. It’s been raining and the roadsides are splattered with a palate of colors – yellow and burgundy tickseeds interrupted by sudden bursts of purple thistle. The park itself is centered around a very large granite “mountain” protruding up 472 feet which is surrounded by smaller rock structures and cliffs. The way up is straightforward if a little steep in parts. Easy when it’s dry, but I can imagine if wet it would be extremely slick. The top is pocked with carved out pools in which little oases of grass and cactus flourish, as do funny little water bugs that scat about on the bottom.

After enjoying the views we plowed downward – not paying a lot of attention to direction on the theory it was all down. But shortly we realized we were descending the wrong side of the granite mound and corrected our course – not, however, by returning to the regular trail. Instead we found ourselves facing a decent little scramble that required hands, and in my case an assist from Z as the drop was quite a bit further than my short little legs could manage.

A bit nerve wracking as it’s been so long we’ve been on a true rock face but what better training for Longs Peak. On the other hand I felt strong and except for the mental challenge it was reaffirming to feel I could have done the hike several times in a row.

Once we rejoined those who had chosen a more conventional descent it was time to drive 40 minutes farther, onto Southhold Farm and Cellar. S had treated us all to a wine tasting and small plate experience at one of Texas’s up and coming wineries. We enjoyed 4 different wines with wonderful names such as The Lovers and the Dreamers while watching flashes of lightning in the distance as a storm rolled in across the broad green valley. And I kept wondering about the elegantly dressed woman, wearing a large sunhat and long dress, sitting alone drinking wine on one of the swings. She looked as though she was in the opening scene of a romantic comedy.

A drive back to Austin and Z demonstrated his cooking talents with seared duck breast over a mushroom risotto. A fitting end to an enchanted day!

Only a 20% Chance of Rain – Seminole Wekiva Trail

“So what are the chances of rain?” I politely inquired of S. “Oh, the National Weather Service says only 20%,” was his nonchalant response. He and M apparently took this forecast as gospel truth since neither of them brought any rain gear. Although I didn’t voice them, I had my doubts, so J and I padded our weighted backpacks with raincoats.

My foreboding stemmed from our prior attempt with M and S at this very same trail – a couple of months ago we started it only to encounter a cloudburst within the first ten minutes. Alas, history proved predictive.

We managed the first couple of miles, trying to ignore the increasingly dark clouds. The goal was to reach the art walk portion of the trail – a mile or so of painted fences lining the sides. We’d done this hike back in 2018 (see A New Year, A New Trail – Seminole Wekiva Trail ) and had always wanted to return.

Unfortunately the dark clouds were engaged in a slow motion wind up and just as we reached the fences the sporadic drops had turned into a full fledged fire hose. This is a completely urban, asphalt trail, and we had just crossed a busy suburban boulevard that provided shelter in the form of an overhang of a small office building looking across a parking lot to a dry cleaners and what I would call a kennel but now goes by the much more exotic moniker of “pet spa.”

I have been slightly sidelined for a couple of weeks with a knee injury incurred in a rather embarrassing fall off the bouldering wall at Blue Swan Boulders. This first training hike since then had a similarly ignominious ending. Needless to say, since S is known for initiating the soggiest of hikes the proverbial finger was pointed at him. He, however, noted that he and M had done this same hike recently with no rain and that J and I were the only common denominator in the wet ones.

Nonetheless, we slopped along, and managed six miles. After wringing ourselves out, we felt we more than deserved a nice lunch at Antonio’s.

A Tale of Two Trails – White Sand to Red Clay

Into the Klondike, from Apollo Beach

It was the best of times; it was the worst…well, you know how that goes. While my hiking has been curtailed somewhat over the last couple of weeks due to an over energetic reach at the bouldering gym that resulted in an unfortunate and ungraceful fall, the prior two weeks offered hikes into two of Florida’s most opposite landscapes – some of the few remaining miles of undeveloped beach and a stretch of rural clay roads forming a loop amid Florida’s few hills.

Some of you may remember that shortly before the pandemic started a year ago J and I trekked into the back country of Cape Canaveral National Seashore, improbably named the Klondike. Castaway on Cape Cavaveral National Seashore – Florida Hiking. Then we started from Playalinda Beach, at the south end and hiked north six of the twelve miles of completely undeveloped beach. This time, along with fellow hikers M and S, we started from Apollo Beach on the north side and headed south for six miles, hoping that this means we’ve actually done the whole thing. There may be a gap here or there but it’s close enough, IMO.

To no one’s surprise the north end of this narrow strip of sand wedged between the brackish calm of the Intercoastal and the crashing waves of the mighty Atlantic is remarkably like the south end. Mile upon mile of sand that varies between soft and rock hard, flocks of pelicans, and masses of jellyfish.

There were apparently only two other people with backcountry permits that day but we never encountered them. At some point midway in the hike, however, we could see the silhouette, far in the distance, of a figure holding something scythe shaped and standing atop a dune. It was so isolated that all I could think of was that he was either a yogi communing with nature or else a serial killer who lived in the rough underbrush waiting for victims. It’s easy to let your mind wander on beaches like that and S’s fondness for horror movies doesn’t help. I started to wonder whether the scythe shaped thing could be some sort of garrote.

As we got closer, however, we realized he was a park ranger who had clearly been assigned the task of keeping an eye out to make sure that no overly adventurous hiker was going to be cut off by high tide. And the garrote was the strap to his binoculars.

It was truly a long and arduous 12 miles, especially lugging 30 pounds in my pack. But what really made it worse was that I apparently had forgotten all the lessons I learned on Mt. Elbrus in 2014 (Steps on the Summit) and failed to put sunscreen on my lips. For about two weeks afterwards I looked like I had some horrible communicable disease and was very glad I got to wear a mask.

I think you can see the lip sunburn starting

Anyway, not to be put off by mild injury, and feeling the Long’s Peak adventure ever approaching, the next Saturday I convinced J to go with me to hike the 10 Mile Clay Loop in Clermont. (See The Florida Foothills- 10 Mile Clay Loop). Begrudging is the best way I can describe his agreement.

When I’m out in the Florida rolling plains, I personally find it easy to imagine I’m in Tuscany, surrounded by large vistas of fields, gentle hills, and a dramatic grey sky. The fact I’ve never been to Tuscany may assist in this creative exercise. J, however, saw lots of traffic, trucks that seemed to take pleasure in speeding and kicking up large clay dust clouds in our faces, and something that looks like a large sand pit that is being constructed on one part of the loop. The for sale signs for some promised future development are a little ominous also.

It turned it was pick your own strawberries day at the very large berry farm that occupies much of the interior of the loop; hence the traffic. They’d run out of fruit though and instead people were picking sunflowers from acres of brilliant yellow flowers. The last hilly stretch with the lake on one side was as beautiful as always.

You can focus on the worst – the sunburn, the drudgery of trudging through sand and dust, and the blisters. But the best is out there too – the crashing waves, so loud you can hardly hear, the sunflowers and wildflowers and pelicans. It’s sort of like jellyfish – their stings don’t out shadow their luminous, stained glass like glow.